Even Time Lords Get the Blues
by No Sweeter Song
Summary: Just a brief one-shot look into the Doctor's mind between Planet of the Dead and the Eleventh Hour.  He's created his own hell, but can he get himself out of it?


This was written as a response to a Whoverse LAS challenge. I can't remember the exact prompt, but it was something along the lines of being your own worst demons or creating your own hell, etc!

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"Come on, Doctor. Show me the stars." Lady Christina de Souza had looked up at him with eager, bright blue eyes. And he was all ready to say yes. Oh, he could see the spirit brimming in this one. She was brilliant. Clever and resourceful and desperately in need of an outlet for that pent up energy. In other words, just his style. It'd be so easy to link her arm through his, pull her into the TARDIS, and take off for the first planet that came to mind.

But he couldn't. The memories were too strong. Donna, limp in his arms as she forgot everything they were, all that she'd accomplished. Rose's stricken face as she realised he was about to leave her behind on that beach. Martha and Jack, and even Mickey the Idiot, not minding for a minute that they were leaving him as they walked off together to new and possibly better things. No. He was better off on his own.

And so he left her. Not completely helpless, of course, but he did leave her behind. Really, the world was better off if he were on his own. Exploring, traveling, but completely alone.

Time Lord victorious his arse. What had he been thinking? Sure, two people had been saved who should have died. And that was all well and good. But instead of dying the proper death, the death she was meant to, Adelaide had felt she had to kill herself in order to keep her timeline the way it was meant to be. That wasn't how it was supposed to go. No one should ever have that feeling. Yes, she would have died anyway. But it would've been how it was meant to be. Not this. Not the disaster that had actually happened. Not that guilt weighing heavily in both of his hearts and deep in the pit of his stomach.

A life was gone. And it was his fault. Even if indirectly. If he'd walked away from that space station like he'd known he was supposed to, he'd have still mourned the crew. But it wouldn't have been his fault. Fate would've played its cards.

"Your song is ending." When Carmen had said the words, he'd thought so little of them. A riddle to be figured out at his convenience. And now it was beginning to make sense. His time was coming to an end. And he'd been right; it was better for him to be alone for that to happen. No reason to risk any lives in the process.

Oh, Wilfred. Bless him. He couldn't just knock three times, no. Four times. One, two, three and four. He'd lived through so much. He'd faced the Time Lords, the Master, all of it all over again. And yet he was going to die. No, he'd never believed in destiny. But he'd seen predictions come true. He was going to die.

It was Donna's kind hearted grandfather who'd given him the idea. Yes, he had saved the world a number of times. His self-imposed loneliness hadn't stopped that. The planet was still in one piece and it was because of him. Maybe he didn't have to live in darkness all the time. Maybe he could allow himself one little moment of light.

So one by one he stepped into the lives of the people who'd most recently traveled with him. Donna, who could never know who he was, was married and beautiful and mostly happy, he was sure. And soon, she'd be very wealthy. Her father had been quite nice, really. He hoped she'd do well. And Sarah Jane's son, all arms and legs in that way that teenagers have. Typical child, not paying attention to the world around him until it was almost too late. Martha and Mickey, in love and married. Funny, really. Mickey had wanted Rose, Martha had wanted him, both realised it couldn't happen. Who'd have thought they'd end up together? There was Jack, looking miserable, and Midshipman Frame, looking just pitiful. That, the Doctor could manage. Joan's granddaughter, the spitting image of her mother's mum, beautiful and kind. And then there was Rose. His Rose. Always his, no matter what.

That smile was proof of why he'd gone on alone. Not to save them. To save himself. It only hurt when they left. When they walked out the TARDIS door for the last time, or they went on with lives that didn't include him. Oh, sure, they were in danger when they were with him. But it was his emotions he'd been protecting all along.

And then he regenerated. And crashed. And when he popped his head out of the TARDIS, there she was. A little ginger girl, all attitude and sass and a sly little grin.

"Does it scare you?" he asked.

"No," she replied, wrinkling her freckled nose. "It's just a bit weird."

Oh, he liked her. He liked her a great deal. "No, the crack in your wall. Does it scare you?"

And when she'd said yes? He knew. This was the one. It was going to take a seven year-old girl to patch his pathetic hearts back together. A seven year-old girl and fish fingers and custard.


End file.
